


A Little Push

by amyoatmeal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angry Castiel/Dean Winchester, Awkward Boners, Awkward Crush, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Castiel is Not a Morning Person, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Character Mentions, Cockblock Sam Winchester, Dean in Shorts, Dean is a Little Shit, Drunk Dean Winchester, Dry Humping, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff and Crack, Fluffy Ending, Frottage, Gardener Castiel, Grumpy Castiel, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rough Kissing, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 23:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyoatmeal/pseuds/amyoatmeal
Summary: "It all started yesterday.  Saturday morning.  Well, technically, Friday night.  Honestly, it started six months ago when Castiel Goddamn Novak moved in next door, but who's keeping score?"Drunk Dean is petty, and Grumpy Cas can be just as petty. Who knew?





	A Little Push

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelwithacapitalA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelwithacapitalA/gifts).



> honestly, this just happened because i was sent a gif of a dude in booty shorts mowing his lawn. thanks @AngelwithacapitalA
> 
> Beta'd by me. I couldn't decide if this was T or M so I changed it to err on the side of caution.
> 
> I also just realized that all three of the works I've posted on here feature Dean being drunk. LOL #whoops

It all started yesterday. Saturday morning. Well, technically, Friday night. Honestly, it started six months ago when Castiel Goddamn Novak moved in next door, but who's keeping score? 

**Friday Night**

Dean had gone out to the Roadhouse for a pint with his pal, Benny. He desperately needed to get out of the house because his stupid neighbor brought his date home. In the six months they have lived next to each other, the dude has never gone on a date, let alone brought one back to his house in full view of Dean’s kitchen window. He wasn’t jealous, not by a long shot. He just really didn’t want to hear their cutesy back-and-forth shit while they gave each other gooey eyes on his neighbor’s porch swing while he ate his pizza over the sink. Not that he was checking or anything. Dean had convinced himself Cas was a eunuch, or a total loser, or something to justify the lack of dates and lack of interest. But there he was with a hot date. A hot woman no less, so it was worse than Dean imagined. His seriously hot neighbor was straight as an arrow and all the times Dean attempted a pass or wore his cut-off shorts were for nothing. Either way, he needed to get out of there, so the only place he knew to go at that hour was the bar and Benny had been the only taker. 

They met up, deliberately talked about everything else besides the reason Dean needed to go out so badly, and after a while Dean realized he’d decidedly had a bit too much to drink. Stupidly enough, he had driven himself home later that night with a mumbled, “I'm good to go,” for good measure. Which is the exact kind of shit decision that proves how much he'd had to drink, but whatever. He drove home no problem. It was parking that had apparently been the issue, but he didn't learn that until Saturday morning.

**Saturday**

There he was sound asleep in his bed, face squished into his drool-drenched pillow, dreaming about Princess Leia and the golden bikini for the hundredth time, when out of nowhere a pounding thud awoke him just when all systems were ready to launch. Dean blearily lifted his head, squinting against the light streaming through the blinds as the pounding continued. For a second, Dean couldn't tell if it was his head or not, but whoever was still going to town on the door, throwing in some doorbell chimes for good measure.

“Holy shit, I'm comin’. Hold your horses,” Dean grumbled, as he rolled out of bed and slipped his fuzzy slippers on. 

He shuffled down the hallway, one hand guiding him along the wall, the other rubbing the crust from his eyes just as he reached the door. Unceremoniously, he yanked the door open just to make the pounding stop. And of course, it was his prissy neighbor with the perpetual stick up his ass. 

“Jesus, Cas, where's the fuckin’ fire?”

Cas’ fuming glare receded for a moment and was replaced by a healthy dose of awkward tension. Dean’s proud to say it only took him about twenty seconds of raised eyebrows and shifty eyes to understand why. Like an idiot, he'd opened the door in his friggin’ birthday suit, at half-mast no less.

“Aw, fuck, hang on.” 

He turned to go retrieve some pants, but Cas wasn't looking to wait around. Probably had to go watch some paint dry or whatever the hell the dude did for fun.

“Dean Winchester!” He was booming through the open door like he couldn't just follow Dean in and yell at a normal decibel for hangovers. Guy always acts like a vampire anyway. Hates mornings, can't enter unless invited. Dean wouldn't even be surprised if he had a dungeon. He's pale anyway. Probably hates garlic. “You ruined my prize rose bush! Don't even try to deny it!”

Dean didn't remember doing any such thing, but since he drove home drunk, answered the door in the buff, and his vision was still fuzzy, he'd be willing to bet his drunk self did just that. “Hang on a sec,” he said, struggling into his pair of sweats. Rounding the corner again, he returned to Cas’ constipated face. “How do you know it was me?” He didn't doubt it was him, he just likes annoying the shit out of his neighbor. Especially over something as stupid as a friggin’ flower bush.

“Oh, gosh, I don't know.” Pointing a finger to the bush in question, Cas never even turned his head. 

Sure enough, his Baby was basically parked like a drunk person drove it nose-first through a rose bush. Imagine that. “Huh, well, shit. Don't remember doin’ that. Hope the paint didn't get scratched,” he said, scratching his chest as he let out a yawn. He really did hope that, but remaining calm was pissing Cas off more so he went with it.

Balling his fists up by his side, Cas opened his mouth like he was preparing to read the Constitution or something, but changed his mind halfway through. He pressed his lips into a thin line instead, but his glare only intensified. Through gritted teeth, he threatened, “You're right, it would be a shame if something happened to the Impala.”

Dean wasn't awake or sober enough to deal with Stuffy McAngryface and his empty threats, despite how cute he looks when he’s angry. “Look, Cas, I'm sorry about the friggin’ flowers, alright? I'll give you twenty bucks and an extra bonus if you get outta my face till at least noon time.”

“It is noon time, Dean!”

Well, shit. “Okay, thirty bucks and you let me watch you walk away.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he reached for his wallet in the bowl by the door. The flirting just slipped out by that point. Cas was a boring asshole, but fuck if he wasn't a hot one too. Dean removed the folded bills from said wallet and teased them in front of Cas’ face. “Whaddya say, Cas? We good?”

“Hardly,” he growled, while snatching the bills out of Dean’s hand like some sort of stuck up jungle cat. As he retreated, he added, “This isn't over, Dean!”

Dean chuckled, ignoring his words in favor of watching his ass sway in his bright orange running shorts.

***

Despite what most people would say, cold pizza actually is the cure for a hangover. Dean considers himself a genius for figuring that out yesterday anyway. Grabbing the half eaten box from the fridge, he plopped down on the couch to catch up on the latest episode of Dr. Sexy on his DVR. It was a good one; i.e. Dr. Piccolo fucked someone in the janitors closet and Dr. Sexy brooded in his cowboy boots. The usual.

He got a text from Sam letting him know he could make it to the cookout later that night. Dean had almost forgot he had another reason to drink again and his liver was probably trying to pull a kamikaze after the night before, but whatever, it's the weekend. Though, it soon occurred to him that he just gave his food money to the hot, grumpy dick across the yard.

It sucked peeling himself out of the Dean-shaped assprint on the couch. Dean groaned as he got to his feet. A shirt. He needed a shirt. He also needed shoes because grown men wearing fuzzy slippers to the store were generally frowned upon in most circles. Trudging back into his room, he pulled his favorite Zeppelin tee off the floor from the night before. He gave it the old sniff test before shrugging and pulling it on anyway. He also slipped on a pair of mandals because no one was around to criticize his fashion choices and who was he looking good for now? Deciding he looked “good enough,” he made his way back down the hall to collect his car keys and his wallet. Everything was easy like a Saturday morning, or however that song goes, until he went out the front door. 

He pulled the door shut, locking it behind him, as one does. It was fine and dandy as he headed over to his Baby. Nice, sunny spring day. Friggin’ birds chirping and what not. That's when he noticed Cas, pointedly ‘minding his own business’ with a soaked paintbrush in hand, sloppily repainting his white picket fence. His white picket fence right next Dean’s Baby. 

Dean hauled ass and rounded the fender in seconds flat. “What the actual fuck, Cas!?” There was fucking white paint splatter all over the side of his car. There still is, actually.

“Oh, I didn't notice you there. Just minding my own business. Saw some spots on my fence that needed touching up,” he said fake-casual, as he slapped his loaded brush against another picket, causing even more splatters to fly.

“Like hell you are! You're getting friggin’ paint all over my goddamn car!”

Cas rose to his feet and wiped some stray white paint from his face with the back of his hand, glare firmly in place. “Oh no, I had no idea! That's incredibly unfortunate, Dean. My sincerest apologies! I can’t help, but wonder if this could have been avoided if you hadn't parked your car on my property!”

Dean all but rubbed their chests together as he came up on the fence. “Too fucking far, Cas,” he gritted out, getting up in his face. Under other circumstances, Dean would have been down for a rage fuck or something. Heck, who is he kidding? He's still down, but nobody messes with his Baby except for Dean when he is drunk, apparently.

“Maybe next time, you'll learn not to touch my property,” Cas growled back, actually pushing their chests together for emphasis before backing away. He turned towards his garage to put his paint away, leaving Dean engulfed in his own rage with the weirdest hard-on ever.

***

Dean wasn’t going to let Cas ruin his weekend two nights in a row because… well, because fuck him that’s why. He shouldn’t be able to just ruin a guys whole weekend for no reason. Granted Dean sort of started it, but whatever. Cas could play this pissing match by himself because Dean was determined to have a good time. He had his family over, he had his grill going, music blasting, and most importantly he had beer. Lots of beer. 

“Might want to take it easy, brother,” cautioned Benny, as he took a hot dog off the plate beside the grill. “Think you had one too many last night.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I'm a big boy, Benny, I think I can handle it.” He took another large swig of his beer just to hammer that point home. If Dean wanted to drink whatever feelings away he damn well would.

Just as he pulled the bottle away, he got struck in the head by a goddamn rogue frisbee. “Ah, sorry, Dean!” Dean knew there was a reason he never wanted Sam to bring his big, dumb dog over. Averting a glare, he rubbed the back of his head while he finished flipping the burgers.

Bobby, Ellen, and Jo were seated around the outdoor table blabbing about something. Sam and Charlie switched to tossing a tennis ball around after the frisbee proved dangerous. Benny and his wife Andrea were relaxing in the lounge chairs with drinks. Everyone seemed like they were having a good time. Except Dean. It wasn't turning out how he had hoped because he still felt like a pouty three-year-old. Not only was Cas not interested, now they were on shit terms and that seemed even worse than the unfortunate cockblock. But he also was pissed about the car. If he wasn’t dumb he could’ve just invited Cas over. Whatever. He reached for the stereo remote to boost the volume, hoping to tune out his own pity-party, mixed-bag of emotions. 

It worked for a while. Zeppelin tends to have that effect. But after a couple songs, there was a knocking at his backyard gate. Bobby opened the latch and shouted over for Dean. Of course, it was Cas again.

Dean let out a hefty sigh as he crossed the lawn. Nodding Bobby off, he slapped on his best tight-lipped smile. “Something I can help you with, Cas?”

He returned it with a pinched smile of his own. “Yes, actually, you can turn down your stereo. Some of us are trying to enjoy a quiet night in.”

Dean scoffed. “A quiet night in, huh? What no dates to take home tonight, Casanova?” It was out of his mouth before his verbal filter could catch up. He made a mental note to listen to Benny more often in the future, but in the meantime, he took another drink just to stop himself from saying anything even more incriminating.

“A date?” Cas did that stupid squint and head tilt thing he does, that Dean specifically remembers because it's not adorable at all. “I'm not sure what you're implying, Dean…” His face had cleared into something indeterminable before he turned to walk away. “Just- just turn the music down! Please.” 

Dean almost could've sworn Cas was flushing pink a bit before he stormed off, but it was probably rage or Dean was probably too drunk to remember right. Pointedly ignoring Cas’ request, Dean turned the volume up even more. He wasn’t going to let Cas dictate the volume of his own cookout. No way.

***

The group of them had taken to playing some card games for a while in the backyard. Everyone was full anyway and the sun had just started to go behind the treeline. That’s when another knock came at the back gate. Dean was still annoyed from the previous interaction so the fact that Cas was coming back again to complain was really rubbing him the wrong way. So Dean got up and made his way over to the gate again to tell Cas exactly where he could stick it.

“Why don’t you just blast some Josh Groban and mind your own fuckin’ business,” he had started as he unjammed the finicky gate latch. But when he finally managed to unclick the latch and the gate swung open he realized it wasn’t Cas afterall. It was Sheriff Jody Mills.

“Hiya, Dean,” she said, with her hands on her hips. He and Jody were close acquaintenances at the very least. She’d given him a few million warnings instead of tickets. Good lady. “Got an anonymous noise complaint for your address,” she continued, briefly acknowledging the folks in the backyard before giving Dean a stern, motherly look. “Think you can turn down the music?”

“Anonymous, my ass! It was Cas wasn’t it?”

“You know I’m not permitted to say that, Dean. Just turn the music down and I can get out of your hair. I got more important places to be, you know. Home, for one thing.” 

Dean grumbled the whole way over to the stereo. He did it for Jody, not because Cas had asked him to. He pressed the power button on the music altogether, it was probably late enough that people could go home anyway. Dean wasn’t really in the mood to entertain anymore. Giving Jody a small salute, she thanked him as she left his backyard. Then he turned back to everyone else and told them to get the hell out of his yard and go home, but he said it with love really. Sam offered to stick around and help him clean up, but he waved it off and said he would take care of it. 

But he was still feeling a little petty. Who could blame him, right? Cas still ruined his Friday night, still woke him up earlyish during a hangover, interrupted his cookout twice, and most importantly, defiled his Baby. And for what? Because Dean drunkenly ran over a damn rose bush? That didn’t really seem all too fair. Which is why, when Dean climbed into bed later that night, he set his phone alarm for 7am the following morning. And another for 7:05am just in case he missed it. 

**Sunday Morning**

All of that lead him to this moment. 

Dean’s phone is vibrating on the nightstand with that fun little mariachi tune turned up as loud as it can go. And then again, as he inevitably shut it off, because who actually wants to wake up at 7am on a Sunday? Well, Dean did. Why? Because Cas hates mornings. Cas and mornings are like oil and water. Every morning Dean goes out to get his paper either Cas is never there, or Cas would be out watering his roses grumbling about the fact he hates mornings. And that was at like, 9am on a weekday. Not 7am on a Sunday. He flips over with a groan and turns the phone off again, but this time he’s getting to his feet to take a leak.

The pettiness is turning into bubbly revenge excitement for whatever reason as he pulls on his denim cut-offs and work boots. Not even because Cas will care, it’s just more for Dean. It dawns on him a bit that getting excited about exacting revenge via lawnmower on his straight-laced neighbor that he has a schoolgirl crush on is the exact kind of thing he would have considered pathetic ten years ago, but Dean is pushing 40 and sue him for making his own entertainment.

Making his way out to the garage, he uncovers his red push lawnmower and wheels it out to the front yard. He pulls the recoil a couple times waiting for the motor to kick on and then, all at once, it comes sputtering to life. It’s not technically evil, his lawn really does need to be mowed. It just doesn’t necessarily have to be mowed at the ass crack of dawn, but whatever. He’s pushing along just fine, making nice even rows along his front yard. It actually looks pretty nice if Dean says so himself. He’s pretty satisfied, but he’s even more satisfied when out of the corner of his eye Cas’ front door flies open on its hinges. 

Cas is standing with his fists balled up again on his front steps. The only thing he’s got on is his blue striped robe and a pair of white boxers. It’s a good look and it also looks like he’s shouting his name, but Dean can’t actually hear it around the sound of the lawnmower. He laughs anyway, just out of spite. In his distracted state, Dean runs the mower over a rock in the grass and it hitches the wheel. 

“Dean Winchester!” He can hear Cas clear as day now, apparently he stormed his way over to Dean’s lawn. Dude sounds pissed, which is exactly what Dean was hoping for.

“Heya, Cas! Beautiful mornin’, ain’t it?” He beams at him, while trying to shove the stuck lawnmower over the rock. He motions to it, “Just doin’ a little yard work out here. Why you up so early? Thought you hated mornings.”

“I do,” growls Cas. He’s always growling something. “Seeing as how your lawnmower is stuck, maybe it might be best to shut it off! Most people appreciate sleep!”

“Oh, this? Don’t worry, all it needs is a little push!” Dean emphatically pushes the mower over the rock and nods a mocking smile towards Cas as he continues mowing his lawn. He makes it probably five feet before there’s a strong hand gripping his shoulder. He’s spun around with relative ease, which is a bit hot, he won’t lie; he had no idea Cas even had muscles. But he doesn’t have much time to think about it before Cas is shoving him to the ground.

They’re grown men. Both around 40. Just to set the record straight here. Because anyone walking by their neighborhood right now wouldn’t believe that. They’re fumbling around in the grass, trying to fight or something, who knows? The best they manage to get in is a pathetic attempt at slappy hands. Dean manages to get on top for a second, but it’s not long before Cas has him pinned in the grass again by the wrists. There’s a thud as the lawnmower hits against Cas’ white fence repeatedly and they both glance up, having forgotten about it in their middle-aged attempt at a brawl, but it’s quickly ignored when they start to go at it again.

“Dean!” Cas shouts as Dean continues trying to fight against his wrists being held down. “Dean! Stop! You’re being juvenile!”

Dean stops, but only to dramatically roll his eyes. “OH, I’m the one being juvenile!? You’re the one that called the cops on my cookout and got paint on my car!”

Cas purses his lips, but at least he doesn’t try to deny anything. “Dean, I admit my behavior was immature, but you still ruined my rose bush and you never adequately apologized.”

“You want another apology? Fine, Cas, I’m sorry I ruined your friggin’ flowers. Again. Happy?”

“But why did you do it, Dean? You know how important my gardening is to me.” 

He’s pulling those puppy dog eyes he does. Honestly, it’s probably just his regular eyes and Dean’s not used to people looking that sincere or something. “I don’t know, Cas! I was drunk, in case you missed that memo!” Cas doesn’t look convinced. “You gonna let me up?”

“No, Dean. Not until you tell me why you ruined my roses!” Cas tightens his grip as Dean struggles against him. Cas should probably be aware that this is one of Dean’s fantasies, but he pops that thought bubble real quick. When Dean hesitates, Cas presses down on his wrists even more.

“Okay! Okay! I was jealous that you brought someone home, alright!? That what you wanted to hear? I was jealous! Now we can go back to being awkward acquaintances again and I can be the weirdo next door with the schoolgirl crush. Now, seriously, let me up, Cas! I mean it!” 

“Jealous?” Cas squints and tilts his damn head, as he usually does. “Dean, I don’t know why you keep thinking I went on a date. I went out with my sister, Anna, and she hadn’t seen my home yet.” Clearly, the rest of the sentence catches up with him, as a slow spread of pink crawls up to the tips of his ears. “You have a crush on me?” he asks, but Dean’s not waiting around for any awkward moments. He wants up, right freaking now. 

“Let me up!” 

He forces his hips up to emphasize his point, but he realizes pretty quick that was a bad idea. Alternatively, it was a great idea, because in their wrestling, Cas’ robe fell open and it is now painfully obvious Cas is sporting a raging hard-on through his thin, cotton boxers. Dean chances a glance down, you know, just to confirm if his feelings are true. And yeah, it’s there alright. He awkwardly clears his throat. “That a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me, Cas?” Classic.

Cas’ eyes widen instantly and he looks down like he forgot all about the fact he was straddling Dean in his underpants. It’s pretty awkward, but they’re both kind of sat frozen in the grass, staring at where their boners are separated by just a couple layers of fabric. 

Dean’s not really sure what to do in this situation. He kind of just told the dude he thought was straight that he has a crush on him, while also admitting he’s a childish asshole when he’s drunk. But also, Cas has a boner (and a huge dick), and it’s pressing up against his own pretty temptingly. Hesitantly, Dean presses his luck and nudges his hips up again just to see what happens. Worst case scenario they play slappy hands again, best case… well, obviously. 

It turns out to be the right move, because two seconds later Cas is driven into action. He’s forcibly crushing their mouths together, chapped lips dragging over Dean’s own. Dean never knew chapped lips could be a fetish until that first time he saw Cas. One of his hands come up to tug at the short hairs on top of Dean’s head and Dean groans into his mouth. At the first opening, Cas slips his tongue in to find Dean’s. Dean brings his own hands up to dig into the mess of Cas’ bedhead and it feels exactly as he dreamed it would between his fingers. They’re dry-humping on the lawn like a couple teenagers, nipping and sucking, before Cas trails his mouth along Dean’s jaw and over the cord in his neck. When Dean slides his hands down Cas’ back to squeeze the firm globes of his ass, Cas outright growls against his skin and begins grinding down against Dean even harder. 

Dean doesn’t think Cas is straight anymore.

He doesn’t get long to revel in that seeming victory. Dean, being the genius that he is, reaches down between them and begins to undo his fly, but just as he gets the zipper halfway it feels like he’s doused in cold water. Literally. They are being sprayed with a garden hose.

Cas fumbles and rolls off of him. He’s lucky. He has a friggin’ bathrobe on. Dean’s all, but naked. “What the fuck!?” He squints up and of course it’s his gargantuan of a brother holding the hose.

“I’m pretty sure having sex in your front yard counts as public indecency or something,” Sam says, taking his thumb off the hose. 

Cas’ face is bright red, but besides being soaking wet and shivering Dean actually thinks this is pretty hilarious. “You’re just jealous!” He zips his shorts back up, before sitting himself up in the grass. He forgot about the fucking lawnmower, that’s still banging away at the white picket fence. Dean looks to Sam and Sam just rolls his eyes before marching over to turn the thing off. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your ugly mug this early in the morning, Sammy?”

Sam shoots him a bitch face before he says, “You seemed like you were having a bad day yesterday, so I wanted to come clean up your backyard. Hadn’t really gotten that far yet, before I saw my idiot brother trying to whip his dick out on the lawn. Besides, you know I wake up early to go running. This isn’t early for me, I’ve been up for hours.”

Cas just groans, because the thought of that is probably killing him softly. He gets to his feet and pointedly ties his robe up before awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, Dean, um, thank you for the apology. I’m sorry for the things I did as well. I should probably be getting back to bed.” He nods in the direction of his front door, and stiffly turns to walk back. 

Knowing how Cas walks when he has a ridiculous boner really puts things in perspective, and Dean’s now realizing Cas has walked like that after talking to him more than once. He almost feels a swell of pride, but instead of letting it linger he’s scrambling onto his feet. “Wait, Cas!” He almost slips in the wet grass, but he stumbles his way over to Cas. Cas turns to greet him with obvious hesitation. “I was, uh, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go on that date? You know, the one I accused you of anyway? Maybe tonight?”

Cas stares blankly, surprised, but a small smile tugs the corners of his mouth up anyway. “Yes, Dean. I’d like that. I was actually hoping you’d ask me for a while now.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you were, were you? Well, I thought you were straight. Why didn’t you just ask me?”

He considers the question for a moment. “I’m not sure. I think I just liked watching you make a fool out of yourself first.”

Dean can’t help, but laugh. He’s made a bumbling fool of himself plenty over the last six months, and these last 24 hours have been no exception. “You son of a bitch.” He playfully shoves Cas’ shoulder.

Cas just grins back at him. “Yes, well, I will see you tonight, Dean. You should wear the shorts.” 

He disappears behind his blue front door and Dean’s just left grinning to himself like a giant idiot. He feels like he’s on a fluffy cloud or something, until he turns around and remembers that Sam is there too. Awkwardly, Dean clears his throat and nods to Sam, but all Sam does is say, “I’m happy for you, Dean, but really, put some fucking clothes on.”

**Sunday Night**

Dean does his best to look presentable before he leaves his house. An actual dress shirt and his nice jeans. He can’t wear the shorts out, but who knows if all goes well, maybe later. As he closes his front door, he pauses a moment on his stoop before a silly idea strikes him. He makes his way down the gravel of his driveway, before stopping in front of the worse-for-wear rose bush. Trying to examine it for an undamaged rose, he finds one closer to the fence and cuts it off at the stem with his pocket knife. It’s cheesy as hell, but then again, so is Dean. With rose in hand he walks up Cas’ front steps and rings the bell. He hides the rose behind his back and waits for Cas to open up. When he does, he looks great, by Dean’s definition. He’s frantically standing in a pair of orange boxer briefs. 

“Dean! We never picked a time and I didn’t know what to wear!”

Dean laughs at how distressed he seems over a simple outfit as he offers out the rose. “It’s all good, Cas.”

Staring down at the rose, Cas visibly calms a little and his eyes go all gooey and he gets that small smile he always does, “Thank you, Dean.” But then he notices that Dean is wearing pants, “Why aren’t you wearing the shorts?”

“Didn’t think they’d be appropriate for a restaurant, but hey, if all goes well, then who knows?” He winks.

Cas blushes, despite the fact they already rubbed their dicks together this morning. “Just give me a moment,” he mutters, before flying off to his bedroom.

Dean lets himself in and sits on the couch while he waits. He’s not like Cas, he’s not waiting outside. When Cas comes back he’s wearing a white button-up and a pair of denim that hugs him in all the right places. Dean does his best not to stare at his thighs as he gets up from the couch. “Ready?”

“Yes.” 

They walk together down the driveway bumping hands, but still being too chicken shit to just hold each other’s. It’s still nice. The airs warm and the sun has just gone down behind the trees. The sky is that blue and pink smudge and the crickets are starting to come out. They approach the Impala and Dean leads Cas to the passenger side. He glares at Cas when Cas snorts a little at the paint on the side of the door, but there’s not really any heat to it. It’s paint. It can be fixed. Dean circles around to his own side and they both climb into the leather seat. 

“So, Cas…” Dean starts, nerves kind of catching up with him, “Where to?”

“I’m fine with anything really, as long as it’s not Italian,” he says, buckling his seat belt. “I hate garlic.”

“HA!” Dean definitely called that one. “You wouldn't happen to have a dungeon in your basement, would you?”

“A what?” Another head tilt. At least, Dean can admit that it’s adorable this time.

He laughs more, but brushes it off. “It’s nothing, nevermind.” He composes himself a little more before asking, “How do you feel about cheeseburgers?”

A smile splits Cas’ face. “I love cheeseburgers.”

That sudden nervous pang recedes again because this is good. Anyone that loves cheeseburgers is awesome in Dean’s book, and Cas was pretty much awesome to begin with, despite the things Dean says when he’s being an idiot. At least Cas is a petty bastard too sometimes so Dean doesn’t feel so bad about the whole thing. 

And he’s also a great fucking kisser, which is something Dean is looking forward to learning all over again later. Preferably involving a different hose.


End file.
